


0118 999...

by HHarris



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: AU, GridLOCK Flashfic 2015, Hand Jobs, Handcuffs, I'm Serious, Light Bondage, Lipstick, M/M, Pre-show, The IT Crowd - Freeform, The Wiggles - Freeform, and I'm sorry, emergency services, purple trousers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-09
Updated: 2015-08-09
Packaged: 2018-04-13 21:11:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4537527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HHarris/pseuds/HHarris
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In this crackfest, Sherlock and Lestrade are on a children's public education singing tour and Sherlock cannot remember the lyrics to their new song. Fortunately, Greg is a good teacher.</p>
            </blockquote>





	0118 999...

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the AU flash fic workshop during GridLOCK DC 2015. 
> 
> The prompt cards were:  
> Sherlock, Lestrade, Bondage, Lipstick
> 
> and finally...
> 
> The Wiggles (a children's band).
> 
> The assumption here is that (a la The IT Crowd) the number for emergency services has changed from 999 to the _slightly_ more difficult to remember 0118 999 881 999 119 725... 3. [It's very funny](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ab8GtuPdrUQ).

"Lestrade."

"Not until you get it right."

Sherlock twisted against the metal biting into his wrists, cuffs locked and slung high around the dressing room rack.

"Please," Sherlock rolled his eyes and ground his straining purple trousers into Greg’s knee. "We’ve been over this a dozen times. I think I can remember a simple number."

"This is important," Greg scolded and grasped Sherlock’s chin, turning to the delicate task of applying a glossy, red schmear to Sherlock’s lips. "One more time, we’re due on in 15."

The vague rumble of feet and theater chatter filtered through the green room door. Sherlock closed his eyes in concentration and sang, "0118 999 889—"

Greg hummed in disappointment. 

"Sherlock, this is important. How will the children know who to call in an emergency? If you can’t remember the words to the song—"

"But it’s stupid!"

Greg withdrew his knee teasingly out of reach. "Need a hint?"

Sherlock shut his eyes against the drone of the crowd. "Maybe just a small one."

"Think you’re clever?" Greg teased, palming Sherlock through his costume trousers.

"Course," Sherlock huffed.

"If you were _really_ clever you'd have memorized the lyrics."

Sherlock hummed again and canted his hips up. Greg rose and stepped forward until they were chest to chest. He undid the button, the zip, and took Sherlock in hand, stroking the length of his cock in long, even pulls.

"Ready?"

Sherlock breathed assent. Greg assumed a pattern of firm strokes punctuated by thumbed swirls over the head of his prick. Stroke, swirl, stroke, swirl — then eight (or was it nine?) long pulls followed by another tantalizing pass of his thumb-tip. Sherlock’s head fell back, brow furrowed and red, glossed lips parted and moving vaguely.

"0118 999 —" he exhaled in a broken, sing-song murmur.

"88 _1_ 999 119—" Greg was speeding up, the pattern becoming increasingly difficult to discern.

"725... 3!" Sherlock's stuttered and spilled over Greg's hand to his whispered encouragement.

A knock on the green room door signaled their two-minute warning. The stomping and cheering of children filtered in through the haze as Greg zipped him up and unclasped the cuffs.

"Time to teach some kids about emergency services!" Greg enthused, grabbing his ukulele.

**Author's Note:**

> sorry not sorry.


End file.
